Ruscan- TrappedOrSaved?
by Canada-Williams
Summary: When Rebel!Canada finds himself lost in Russia, then captured by the cold country, what is to become of his fate? Will he be saved by the romancing Moscow? Or will he have to fend for himself against the other household members?
1. Chapter 1- All Alone

Canada POV

Canada sighed as he shivered, walking through the snowy trees, and he quickly wiped his eyes. "I-I wish I hadn't gotten l-lost…" He looked at Kuma, picking him up and zipping him into his military coat, glancing around helplessly. "F-France was right…I should have never left…I-I'm just a dumb kid." Kuma looked at him, head and eyes barely visible. "Who are you?" Kuma asked, tilting his head. Canada nearly burst into tears, looking to the side. "I'm New Fran- I mean….eh….I'm C-Canada." He replied sadly. Canada ran a hand through his messy hair, face smeared with grime and dried blood from his most recent rebellion, and stumbled, untangling his fingers from his curl, blushing lightly. He trudged on, trying to locate himself.

He had left France- ran from him to the east for quite awhile, narrowly dodging Germany, and started running north. _What was northeast of France? _He paused, thinking, a hand pressed against the gash in his side, made from France's own silver sword. Northeast of France? He paled, eyes widening. "R-Russia…I'm in Russia." He whispered, voice cracking as a wave of fear rolled through him. What had America warned him about Russia? Canada tried to remember his brother's words, having difficulty with his pounding headache, a gift that came with war. _Remember bro, Russia's bad news. He's just a mean ol' commie. _Is that what America said? Canada thought so. He ran again, his arms hugging Kuma to his chest, vision blurred without his glasses, which had been left in France, shattered on the ground. He ran faster than ever, vision blurring further with exertion. He was in no shape to defend himself against North Italy much less Russia. He knew it was very dangerous for him to be in Russia without France's supervision, looking identical to America, other than his eyes. Canada learned that America and Russia were not good friends very quick. He kept running, hand pressing tighter one of his many wounds, slowing down, dizzy with blood loss.


	2. Chapter 2- Discovered

Russia's POV

The cold hearted country strolled casually through the forest, hands in his pockets. He hummed absentmindedly, face blank, pausing to admire a sunflower on the ground, a boot mark imprinted on part of it, the rest of the mark in the snow. Russia frowned, kneeling down, examining the print, noting the specks of red on the snow.  
"Hmmm….."  
He compared the print to his own boots, seeing it was several sizes smaller, much like that of a young adult, the sole telling Russia that they were of Military issue. He raised an eyebrow, thinking further. Who did he know who was young and wore these boots? The last rebel he was aware of was….Russia's eyes flashed and he scowled as the picture of that damn kid with the sky blue eyes and stupid cowlick popped into his mind.

"Kolkolkolkolkol…" He chuckled, following the trail of blood and boot prints.

Canada's POV

He'd ran as hard as he could, not seeing he'd trampled the lone sunflower, feeling very paranoid, looking over his shoulder every now and then, the trail of blood following him. He slowed to a light jog, panting, and stopped to throw up, bending over slightly. His hand clasped tight over his cut, eyes watering as he gagged. When he was finished he stood, wiping his mouth on his sleeve which went red with his blood. He walked swiftly, one arm still hugging Kumajiro to his chest. He ran up to the top of a large hill, looking around. He couldn't see anything, not without his glasses or with the sun in his eyes, making his purple irises shine beautifully despite the pain they hid. His hair managed to shine dimly past the dirt and dried blood. He turned, not seeing the Russian male standing at the edge of the clearing, and he took a deep breath. His eyes scanned the tree tops, at the snow and tall trees, so much like his own home. "Beau…" He breathed, amazed at how close Russia and Canada looked alike. He only spoke that one word, before falling on his hands and knees, pain blossoming from his left shoulder to the rest of his body as he collapsed on his stomach. He couldn't breathe- he was panicking too much. His breathing slowed as he hyperventilated, eyes closing as he fell into unconsciousness. He was left in the darkness to wallow in pain.

_Pleasedon'thurtmePleasedon'thurtmePleasedon'thurtm e…_

Russia's POV

Russia followed the faint trail of blood easily, the dark red contrasting with the pale white of the snow. He walked at a decent pace; and noticed the vomit, deciding this person he was tracking was badly hurt. America? Badly hurt? Russia smiled at the thought. He walked on, humming a dark song cheerfully, and stopped at a clearing. He saw a silhouette on the hill, looking around. He stepped to the side, leaning on a tree trunk, hidden in the shadows. He produced a handgun from the folds of his jacket, taking aim, not seeing the Canadian's face, but the outline of a bulky military coat. This person was about the same height as America….Same build….Right? Right. He took aim, pulling the trigger, watching his "enemy" fall on his hands and knees, then collapse. He sauntered up the hill, using the tip of his boot to roll Canada onto his back, seeing his eyes closed. He heaves him up, knowing he was still breathing, and slowly walks back to his house. Russia carried the limp body into his basement, using the door in his kitchen. He sat the body in a chair, blindfolding him, and binding his hands and legs to the chair, chuckling. "Kolkolkolkol." He admitted he was disappointed the young man was still alive, but he realized that this could mean he could have some fun. He shook his head at the person in the chair, "Dissapointing." He muttered, and with that, left Canada in the basement, closing the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Russia's POV

Russia followed the faint trail of blood easily, the dark red contrasting with the pale white of the snow. He walked at a decent pace; and noticed the vomit, deciding this person he was tracking was badly hurt. America? Badly hurt? Russia smiled at the thought. He walked on, humming a dark song cheerfully, and stopped at a clearing. He saw a silhouette on the hill, looking around. He stepped to the side, leaning on a tree trunk, hidden in the shadows. He produced a handgun from the folds of his jacket, taking aim, not seeing the Canadian's face, but the outline of a bulky military coat. This person was about the same height as America….Same build….Right? Right. He took aim, pulling the trigger, watching his "enemy" fall on his hands and knees, then collapse. He sauntered up the hill, using the tip of his boot to roll Canada onto his back, seeing his eyes closed. He heaves him up, knowing he was still breathing, and slowly walks back to his house. Russia carried the limp body into his basement, using the door in his kitchen. He sat the body in a chair, blindfolding him, and binding his hands and legs to the chair, chuckling. "Kolkolkolkol." He admitted he was disappointed the young man was still alive, but he realized that this could mean he could have some fun. He shook his head at the person in the chair, "Dissapointing." He muttered, and with that, left Canada in the basement, closing the door.

Canada's POV

His eyes snapped open and darted to the left, trying to see- but he only saw darkness.  
"Awake so soon, da?" an unfamiliar voice chuckled. Matt listened carefully, trying to pinpoint the location of this stranger. He guessed he was about 2 meters away. Canada remembered he was now officially his own country, so he refrained from speaking French, still upset with his papa.  
"Yes."  
"Good. Now the fun will begin."  
Canada froze, muscles tensing, and he realized he had stopped bleeding. The Canadian sighed in relief, answering nervously as he registered all the hidden meanings the other man could have behind the word _fun_. He asked nervously, "Eh…Wh-Who are you? And what do you mean _fun_?" His eyes moved again, wanting very desperately to see again. "Why c-can't I see?!" He began to panic, freezing when he felt a cold, metal cylinder press against his chin, tilting his head back for him. What was touching him? What weapons could Russia possibly have? Dozens of weapons scrolled through his mind, freezing on his lead pipe. The one America said had blood from centuries ago still crusted onto it. He swallowed, eyes closed. He shifted in his uniform, listening to the man's reply: "It is a blindfold, da?" the person replied, clearly amused by his stupid questions. "You know who I am, Америка." (America)

Canada froze, gritting his teeth while his temper flared briefly. He growled, "I am NOT America!" He glared at his blindfold, wearing a scowl. He sighed, taking a deep breath to calm down, eyes closing. Oh, how he wished he could see again… " Please…T-Take it off…S'il vous plait?" He begged, giving into his native language, finding a small feeling of comfort in it. He spoke again, with a slight degree of hardness in his voice, having gained some minimal confidence in his French speaking moment. "L-Let me go or I'll….I'll call America!" He snarled, appearing braver than he actually was, straining against his ties.

Russia's POV

He kept both eyes on this strange person, mentally confused. Why would America threaten to call himself for protection? And why would he speak French? Russia knew nothing of the new country, Canada, so it was only possible that this was America. Something wasn't right about this, and Russia was determined to figure it out. He stepped closer to the Canadian, thinking. America wouldn't beg. He wouldn't sink to that level so soon. Would he?  
"Since when does America speak French, hmm?" He asked curiously.  
He didn't get an answer immediately, so he frowned, looking at the air behind Canada which had started shimmering. He gritted his teeth, hiding it with a smile. "Ah…. Привет Taris…Finally come out to speak with America, da?"(Hello) The dark haired man barely stood out from the darkness, but his eyes glowed tree- leaf green. "No. Well- yes, but that's just another reason I'm here." Taris grumbled, eyeing the young adult in the chair. "…What was your real reason, then?" Ivan asked cautiously, not liking the glint in Taris's eye. Taris took a step up, now easily viewed in the light of the flickering overhead lamp. "Well…I was thinking we could keep him down here for awhile, get what we can from him." He smiles at Ivan, crossing his arms. The young teenager's breathing faltered, then started back up, twice as quick as before, skin paling slightly. Ivan shrugged.

Taris stepped behind Matt, tugging tauntingly on his blindfold. "What were you doing running around Russia?" He questioned voice harsh. He bent a bit, his mouth inches away from Canada's ear, the boy tensing at the proximity.

Silence.

Ivan sighed, going back up to the kitchen to get a shot of vodka, swallowing it easily. If Taris wanted to sit around and question him- fine. Russia would have his fun sooner than later.

Canada's POV

He listened to the two strangers, eyes remaining closed. His head fell back, feeling his blindfold being toyed with, his hopes rising at seeing again, but he kept his eyes closed. Even if he could see, he didn't want to see the man who'd hurt him. He didn't want to see his face. "What were you doing running around Russia?" A deep voice growled, about two or three inches from Canada's ear. Canada tensed, not even sure where the second male had come from. Canada ignored him, assuming the man speaking to him was a two or three inches from his right ear. He didn't think that was very important to know, so his thoughts moved to something else: Where was he?

His thoughts were interrupted when a finger prodded his back roughly, right where the bullet left his body hours ago. Matt stiffened, hissing quietly and flinched, his head jerking to the right. The side of his head collided with Taris's jaw with a muffled crack. The stranger snarled, pulling back and wiped his now bloody mouth.

Canada wore a scowl, pulling against his bonds again. "L-Let me go!" He half yelled half begged. Taris gave a sadistic laugh, undoing his blindfold slowly, and turning off the lamp. Canada's eyes snapped open, glaring death at Taris. The light from the door to the kitchen shone down, casting dark shadows over everything except a patch of light on the floor, right in front of Canada's chair. Canada's light purple eyes shone as a dark violet, face dark with the lighting and his own hatred toward Taris. Taris gave him a cocky smile, lip split, and began walking up the stairs, voice taunting as he spoke as if he was reprimanding a naughty child.

"Now, think about what you have done…You're in time out." And with that, Taris left Matt in the darkness, shutting the door, the patch of wonderful light- gone.

Canada's eyes widened at Taris's words, as memories of France saying the exact same thing flooded his mind, now wracked with guilt on top of his despair. His head filled with France's voice, and he hung his head low, his papa's words overlapping as he sat there, ashamed he had left France. He listened to France's words, finding small comfort, but it was better than none, right?

_Now, mon petit…Zhou know better than to make zuch a big mess…_

_Bwitain, zhat was not nice…'e is clearly mon Canada…Not zhoure stupid American._

_Canada, vhere are zhou?~_

Matt closed his eyes, remembering that last voice. What had he and France been doing? He remembered when he was a lot younger- maybe four or five- and how much he loved to play hide and seek. He remembered always hiding under sinks, or in cabinets. He remembered how much he'd worried France when he hid in the laundry basket. Matt smiled, reminiscing about his past, when he and France had no problems. Oh how Matt wished now that he'd just kept quiet, and stayed as New France.


End file.
